


Love Poems

by AxiomRequests (twofoldAxiom)



Category: Chain Chronicle (Video Game)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Genderbending, M/M, Male Nayel, Mutual Pining, Oral Sex, Resolved Sexual Tension, Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-05
Updated: 2018-07-05
Packaged: 2019-06-05 19:03:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15177269
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twofoldAxiom/pseuds/AxiomRequests
Summary: It was spoken with such gravity to his voice, a breathless kind of sincerity, possessed by the spirit of some unseen muse. There was music to it lain in with Nayel’s voice, unsung but awaiting the clap of hands and the strum of his lyre. Isach took a beat or two to let the words hang in the air between them as Nayel bit his lip with childish excitement. Half a beat after that, he realized what must have happened and what Nayel must be waiting for.Isach in the face of being seduced.





	Love Poems

**Author's Note:**

> IMPORTANT DISCLAIMER: This was written to mount-vines' specs to the best of my ability with the information I had on hand. I apologize if the characterization and details are off, as I have never written for or heard of these characters before working with them.
> 
> Due to these issues, I would advise reading this as if it were written with a pair of original characters in mind who just so happen to share the same names as pre-established characters.

It came suddenly, like a slap to the face. One moment, Isach was focused entirely on the task of sorting and labeling medicine bottles, the next he’d dropped one because of the surprise of hearing Nayel speak.

“I love you.”

 

Isach blinked at Nayel, though Nayel didn’t seem to notice just what Isach thought he’d heard. Indeed, it didn’t look like he noticed anything at all with the way he looked at Isach; dreamily, his chin resting on one hand, the other drawing idle shapes on the wood of the table he sat at.

Isach cleared his throat. “I’m sorry, did you say something?”

“I said I love you.” He repeated, and Isach couldn’t refute that he’d heard it this time. He couldn’t refute the sparkle in Nayel’s eye, the mischievous glint. “Did you want to hear the rest?” He said, soft and light, almost trembling with anticipation. Isach didn’t get to answer before Nayel launched into verse.

_“I love you as towns love the first light of day,_  
_silently waiting to bask in the dawn_  
_I love you as sunlight must love snow in winter;_  
_luminous, scattered, renewed in your form._  
_I love you as mountains must love the horizon,_  
_with longing to see all the world you could hold;_  
_I love you as echoes must love their first voices,_  
_To want to hold onto all that you have told._  
_I love you remade and I love you rekindled,_  
_and never stopped loving each part that remained;_  
_I love you eternal, I love you each moment,_  
_and ever will love you in endless refrain.  
_ _Immortal are you in all that I’ve seen.  
_ _Immortal, my love, in all that you’ve been.”_

It was spoken with such gravity to his voice, a breathless kind of sincerity, possessed by the spirit of some unseen muse. There was music to it lain in with Nayel’s voice, unsung but awaiting the clap of hands and the strum of his lyre. Isach took a beat or two to let the words hang in the air between them as Nayel bit his lip with childish excitement. Half a beat after that, he realized what must have happened and what Nayel must be waiting for.

He breathed out and smiled, shaking his head and returning to his own work. “That was beautiful, as always.” He said, shrugging. “But I’m sorry, I don’t know anything about lyrics. I don’t know if it’s the kind of thing you’re looking for. But I liked it. I’m sure whoever it was for, they’ll love it.”

“They do, I already showed them.” Isach could practically hear the smile in Nayel’s voice, and  _did_  hear him readjusting the various layers and trinkets of his finery. “It’s for you.”

Isach stopped, magnifying glass in one hand, bottle of sleeping draught in the other. He looked up from where he’d been making sure the draught hadn’t expired, gleaming bottles clustered before him on the table where he’d sorted them between usable, use-soon, and expired.

Nayel was busying himself with obvious nonsense, preening despite how his clothes were completely clean. Isach blinked slowly and took a deep, silent breath, holding it before letting it out through his lips. The sound of people passing by outside seemed distant and unreal, and for a moment Isach let himself believe this was a very strange dream.

And then he frowned. “... It’s not very funny.”

“What isn’t?” Nayel said, not looking up from where he was  _literally_  preening. He wore feathers on his cape today, and he was checking for bent or broken ones. “I haven’t told you any jokes.”

“Yes you have. Or rather, you’re playing one.” Isach pursed his lips, doubt creeping through his mind, but at the same time, it was completely irrational to doubt that he was right in this. “You like to tease me, and you like saying things that come out of nowhere to put me on the wrong foot. I’m sorry.” He shook his head. “I just didn’t think it was funny this time. Maybe it’s the heat.”

Nayel actually frowned. Isach chewed the inside of his cheek.

“... I’m just not very good at jokes, Nayel. I’m sure it’s funny to someone else.”

“It must be.” Said Nayel, and if it was a little colder than his usual, Isach told himself it wasn’t his fault that it wasn’t funny to him. Humor was subjective, he wasn’t used to it in his line of work, and Nayel’s work rode solely on gaiety and wordplay and the subjectivity of emotion.  _Surely_  he would understand. Surely he of all people would know.

… Surely.

Isach turned his eyes back down to the labels and the glass, though kept watch in his periphery vision. Silence took hold until he glanced up again, just to see if Nayel was still sulking.

“Are you going to perform it tonight?” He asked. He couldn’t quite tell what face Nayel was making from where he was, and how little he’d moved his head, but he could tell Nayel had leaned back and crossed his arms, and his hat was low enough that it was a smear of color in the side of Isach’s eye where a face might have been.

Isach wanted nothing more than to put his things down and try to entertain him, but he’d never been good at entertaining, and he knew this well enough. The bottles wouldn’t sort themselves. Someone would need his services soon. People died every day, no matter how far they were from the fighting, from the war, another batch of the grim and grieving would come to him with their dying loved ones, and he couldn’t be short on sleepdraught when the time came.

Still, it was hard to focus on the bottles when all he wanted to do was make Nayel laugh again, make him bright and teasing and scandalous again, as he should be. This sobriety didn’t suit him; him in his glittering baubles, him in his jewel-toned scarves. Isach’s eyes felt like they’d glossed over, perhaps from reading the faded, faintly-lettered labels for what felt like hours now.

“I was going to.” Said Nayel. Isach heard the scrape of his chair and the rustle of paper, as Nayel pulled away from where he’d been writing and put his things away. “But I might not, this time. For now, I think I’m going; I know when I’ve made things awkward.”

Isach wanted to protest. Nayel tipped his hat. “I’m sorry for distracting you with my foolery, Isach.” He said, and while it still didn’t feel as warm as it might have been, Isach could at least hear the tease in his voice again. “Rest assured I will return with better quality foolishness. Only the finest for you; a psychopomp needs some of the lighthearted in his life.”

He was gone with a bow and a flourish of his cape, feathers flaring out with the motion like a bird in flight, and he was out into the sweltering heat of mid-afternoon in the Lake of Sand. Isach watched him go and swallowed around a stone in his throat, and let himself wonder if Nayel had meant what he’d said after all.

He wasn’t sure if he wanted that to be true. A traitorous little part of him did, and he clutched the bottle tighter as he pursed his lips in concentration.

He might banish the thought yet. He continued sorting.

~!~

He  _did_  come back eventually, but Isach had the distinct sense that he was missing something.

Not that Nayel was any  _less_  than he’d ever been, of course; if anything, since the incident from a few days past, he seemed brighter than ever. He joked more, flirted harder, and dressed even flashier, in even more layers and trinkets, and Isach had to wonder how he didn’t suffocate in the desert heat under it all. But Isach himself felt there was something more than usual to it besides an upcoming show or simple vanity, and the feeling itched in the back of his mind like a fleabite.

So he tried avoiding Nayel.

It wasn’t a mature solution, but it was all he had. He didn’t shoo him out of his office, but he kept to himself and kept his head down, and for a while it was enough for him. Nayel would grow bored of him, right? He would drift away like a slip of paper downstream, like the memory of a song heard in passing, like a lovely dream. Just like those things, Isach could forget about him in time, and return to his drab, quiet, loathsome work.

Instead, Nayel seemed to take it as a challenge. Isach thought, a little bitter and a little relieved, that he should have known he would. Still, whenever he bit his lips so as not to laugh with Nayel’s jokes, he felt like a traitor.

It took only a week before Nayel’s will gave. He came less and less, and soon enough, when he  _did_  come, he stopped trying to get Isach’s attention overtly. He still spoke, but the strange spell of obvious, increased enthusiasm was gone. Disappointment, regret, longing- Isach couldn’t be sure what he felt about it, but he forced his silence further.

It had been nice to feel wanted, but it wasn’t for him.

~!~

“Isach, please. Please open the door, I need to speak with you immediately.” The knock on the door woke him, but it was the voice pleading outside, the voice calling his name, that had him stumbling away from his desk and his late work. He hadn’t even realized he’d fallen asleep, and he rubbed the sleep out of his eyes and yawned as he unlatched the door. Moonlight poured in, silvery-blue, and a short, plain silhouette stood in the doorway.

It took him a moment to recognize that silhouette. Nayel looked different in plain clothes, his hair unkempt, his eyes pleading and furious at once. He looked smaller, paler. He looked like the moonlight had washed the life out of him and filled him with something wild, hungry,  _scared._

Isach woke the rest of the way, pushing hair away from his face. “Is someone hurt?” He asked. “How bad? I can wake the doctor, I- I know you think highly of me, too highly, but I can only ease the passing or heal minor wounds, and if it’s as bad as it sounds but there’s any way they can be saved-”

“Isach.” Tenderly, achingly, Nayel smiled up at him and raised a hand. Isach froze as the back of Nayel’s hand, all smooth knuckles and cool skin, stroked over his cheek. It was a wonder he had skin so fine. “Isach. Please.  _I’m_  the victim for tonight.”

Isach froze, and clutched Nayel’s wrist; maybe his grip was too tight, but he needed to reassure himself. He felt faint but forced himself upright, and took note of the warmth of the skin under Nayel’s sleeve, the pulse of veins against his fingers. He sighed, finally letting go of him, and managed to a little sternness despite himself.

“Come inside.” He murmured. “But don’t be so quick to come to me for this. I won’t have a hand in bringing you to the light yet.”

“You already  _have_.” Nayel hissed as though in pain, and slipped past him into the darkness of the room. There was only just enough light to see Nayel moving through the gloom, beckoning him deeper into the dark like a ghost.

He shut the door behind him, and without the contrast of the moonlight, the warm, flickering glow seemed to brighten. “What’s happening?” He asked, pulling up a nearby stool for himself. Nayel glanced away, taking a deep breath that stirred the candle flame he stood beside.

When he looked to Isach again, resolve steeled against some unseen foe, he spoke.

“I want to know why you haven’t been talking to me.” He said, and from there seemed to come alive again.

“You’ve been avoiding me. Don’t give me that look; you know you have. You don’t physically avoid me, but it’s like- it’s like we’re not friends anymore. It’s like you don’t  _care_  about me anymore, Isach. It’s been  _killing_  me not to know!” He gestured with his hands, he paced, his voice cutting sharp through the silence, and all the while looking Isach with the most honest expression Isach could ever remember seeing him with.

He stopped, trembling at the shoulders. Isach wanted to stand and put a hand on one, but refrained. Nayel took another breath. “I want to know what I’ve done wrong. I  _love_  you, Isach. I’ve come to you this night because I couldn’t bear another moment of not knowing what I’ve done to push you away,  _please._  If you really, truly don’t want me, I’ll never trouble you again, but I  _have_  to know.”

Isach felt something breaking apart in him at that look, at the tone, shattered pieces cutting deep into every part of him. He gulped around the knot in his throat and found it dry, gulped again and couldn’t muster enough spit to so much as wet his tongue. He sighed.

“You haven’t done anything wrong, Nayel.” He said, softly, tenderly. Nayel looked ready to shatter in turn, waiting on a knifepoint for whatever Isach might say, but there was hope in his eyes yet and Isach hated himself for putting him in a position where that fragile, terrified hope had to be. “I’m sorry, I- I just didn’t know how to handle you. I didn’t realize it might hurt you, to hide from you. I didn’t understand. I  _still_  don’t understand.”

Nayel paused, mouth hanging slightly open, though his shoulders relaxed a moment later. “Oh.”

“Yeah.” Said Isach, smiling weakly. “ _Oh_ _. Oh_  is about right. And, I suppose, I was also afraid.  _For_  you, not of you; don’t be frightened, sit down.” He gestured to another chair, rubbing a hand down his tired face. When he looked up again, Nayel was sitting across from him, legs crossed and chin resting on one hand. Isach chewed his upper lip.

“Afraid for you, yes. Not in any physical sense, but, I know how people see me and my work. I know you’re beloved by everyone here, and.” He bit his lip again, looking for the words. How did Nayel make words come so easily? “And I know despite what you say, a crowd is a fickle thing to keep. I’m a danger to your reputation and your success, Nayel, and besides that, I don’t think there’s anything of me that would be worth the risk.”

He forced himself not to look away, to take in Nayel’s expression as he spoke. “I mean, we’ve known each other long enough that I think you know already, right? And even if we haven’t, you keep your ear to the whispers of this town well enough that you know how much my work and I are loathed as much as you are loved. And, and I don’t think there’s anything I can give that you wouldn’t better find elsewhere, from someone who wouldn’t be as much of a problem to you. I  _want_  to return your affections, Nayel, but I don’t think I’m worth them in the slightest.”

“Please stop.” Nayel said, sudden enough that Isach did. He hadn’t noticed anything overcoming Nayel as he voiced his thoughts, but when Nayel spoke, there was a tremor of something indignant to it, and it was only when Isach really let himself  _hear_  the words that he realized that anger wasn’t at him. “Please. Please don’t denigrate yourself as such to me. What kind of world has hurt you such, that you don’t think of yourself as deserving such a thing as love? What kind of world has reduced love to you so, that you think love will listen to reputation? That isn’t love, Isach. That’s barely affection.” He shook his head.

“I-”

“No, listen to me, please.” Nayel cut him off again, leaned forward and took his hand. His eyes burned brighter than the candles, brighter than a bonfire; Isach almost wanted to look away. “I wouldn’t have told you I love you if I wasn’t willing to make it work. I sing about starlight in a lover’s kiss and sunrise in an embrace, but that isn’t  _love_ , Isach; that may be how we think it is, but love is entirely more than that.”

He breathed hard, his grip tight as fear but infinitely more tender. Isach held his breath as Nayel continued. “Isach, I want to take you into my arms and fight off the world for you, for daring to make you think love is any less than being willing to face any consequences if only to be by your side.  _That’s_  what love is, Isach. That’s what I’m giving you when I tell you I love you: I want to be by your side for as long as you’ll have me, and I’m willing to give everything I can for the  _chance_.”

He paused there, gulping. Isach realized there were tears in Nayel's eyes and tears in his own when Nayel spoke again and there was a heartfelt  _break_  in his voice, unable to hold all he was feeling anymore. “I only dare do so if you let me, Isach, and- and I want this, so much; I want you to love me as much as I love you, but I can never forgive myself if I forced your hand. You’re brilliant, and thoughtful, and you’re worth so much more than you let yourself believe you are. The world is a better place when you wake each morning, and it doesn’t seem to realize how wonderful it is, how lucky it is, to have you at all.”

Breathless, burning words, and Isach could almost believe every one. Nayel gulped again, composing himself. “So if you want me to leave, if you want to just be my friend, or if you want nothing more to do with me… I can accept this. I will do so gladly. But I can’t accept leaving without an answer, Isach. Not tonight.”

Isach paused. True to his word, Nayel waited, but with every passing second it was clearly more and more overwhelming just to stand there. He bit his lip, and Isach recognized the look on his face as the same one that had come upon him weeks ago, when he’d sang him a love song and Isach said nothing.

It was unbearable, now that he knew what it meant.

“Don’t go.”

Nayel’s face brightened, eyes glimmering with a thin sort of hope. It may have been the most achingly sincere thing Isach had ever seen him allow onto his face, and he wasn’t sure if it was being allowed or he simply couldn’t hold it back.

He took a deep breath and thought of plunging into deep water from a high cliff, knowing as soon as he spoke there was no going back- and it would be worth it, deep down, to plunge into the depths.

“I want you to stay.” He said, as Nayel came tentatively closer. “That’s the thing, Nayel; I always want you to stay. I love you, your company, your music, your smile; it’s not you that scares me off.”

“What then, love?” Nayel was so close now; Isach could see himself reflected in his eyes all shadows and pale rose. Nayel’s voice was a whisper as he took Isach’s hands in his own, stroking over his knuckles with the pads of his thumbs. “Tell me, Isach. Please.”

For a moment, Isach’s voice caught in his throat. It was like he could stay like this forever, in the candlelight and the dark and Nayel’s gentle, lyre-calloused hands, in the wet light of Nayel’s earnest, burning eyes.

He broke the spell himself.

“I…” He gulped, but the lump in his throat didn’t go away. If anything, it was growing. His voice cracked. “I’m… I don’t deserve you, Nayel. I would ruin you if I let you have me like I want you to; you  _know_  this, you know my work, you know how people see me.”

He could feel something in himself crack more than his voice, spiderweb fractures radiating outwards from the epicenter. It felt like his heart, though he knew that was impossible, physically. “You know you can find someone better than me.” He felt the cracks deepen. “You know someone out there would…”

He stopped, not because he couldn’t keep going, but because Nayel had let one of his hands go, and with one still wrapped around his wrist, pulled him close against his chest. He could hear his heartbeat, feel the warmth of him through the thin linen of his shirt.

“ _Isach,_ ” There it was again, the way he said his name like a prayer; the worst part was Isach couldn’t get enough of it. “I need you to listen to me, now. Every word from my lips tonight will be the absolute truth as well as I can make it.”

Some vile thing in the deepest reaches of him murmured in the back of his mind that Nayel was a romantic, a lover, a  _storyteller_ , of  _course_  he would lie to get his way, there was no way anything that Nayel said next was more than empty promise.

And Isach decided that part of him wasn’t worth listening to if only to hear what Nayel had to say.

“Tell me.”

“I love you.” He stroked Isach’s hair as he spoke, running his fingers through the locks. “But I understand that sometimes that isn’t enough. There’s nothing you can say that will convince me not to love you, but I know how afraid you must be of hurting me. You’re so  _gentle_  with everything, even with death. You care for every life you handle, and I know you mourn for them as much as you can in the time you have to lead them to the light.”

He held Isach closer, squeezing his arms around Isach’s shoulders. His voice was so quiet, so different from the voice he used when he sang, made it clear he meant his words for Isach alone. “It doesn’t matter to me what people might say. I have more to me than music and verse, and you’re worth more to me than money and song. Would it be that I had to choose, I would choose you every time.”

So gentle, so soft, and yet it made his ribs feel like a mountain were pressing down on them, right over his heart. He wanted Nayel to stop. He wanted Nayel to go on, forever, crushing him and making him anew in the pressure. He wanted Nayel, so greedily it frightened him.

He wanted Nayel, and it hurt that he had to hear it like this. To hear him say he wanted him back. He couldn't breathe, caught up in it.

“Shh.” Nayel rubbed his thumbs under the dips of Isach’s eyes and Isach realized his cheeks were wet. “If you don't want me back, that's alright. I can be your friend despite. I would bear you through the world and its sorrows at a word, no question. You can tell me, I promise; you can tell me you don't want me coming to you in the night like this. You can tell me what you feel.”

Isach laughed, bitterly, brokenly, as he held back the waves of emotion that threatened to pull him under. It was amazing, to him, that he didn’t drown in the swell of it; but he pulled away from Nayel, loathe as he was to do so. He pulled away from the warmth of him and gathered the broken pieces of himself into some semblance of wholeness.

“I would tell you how I felt if I knew how to put it into words.” He said. The look in Nayel’s eyes, mournful, hopeful, a hundred things all at once- it made him want to fall into his arms again. He wondered, distantly, why he told himself he couldn’t have this. But the shame was stronger, was too strong a shame for him to refuse how it kept him away.

But before Nayel could turn away, Isach took a step closer again. “But… Even if I can’t tell you, will you stay the night?” He bit his lip; he could see Nayel’s eyes follow the way his teeth dug into his skin, and he knew how hard it must have been for him to stand there and listen to this, but what else could he do? “I can make tea. I don’t have anything sweet to eat with it, but it should take the edge off.”

He kept the distance between them arm’s length, but he hoped the way he looked at him in turn would say how much he wanted him to stay, even if he couldn't bring himself to on his own. Something bitter and slick as a spoonful of cod oil stuck to the back of his throat, and he wasn't sure what to make of it, and having something to drink usually helped with that.

Nayel paused, then shook his head, and Isach almost thought he was going to leave but there was a lopsided sort of smile on his face now, at least; not the same sort of smile he gave the crowds, but something altogether private and rueful. "Wine, if you have it, please. The medicinal stuff will do, if it's all you have. I don't think tea can warm me up in these sleep clothes." He said.

It didn't seem to Isach that drinking was a particularly good idea, but he nodded along to the request, making his way to the cupboards and shelves that lined the far wall. He knew the place well by now, and could find the dark, gleaming bottles without the aid of much light, but feeling around in the shadowy cabinets while Nayel stood behind him like a ghost sent a prickle up his spine nonetheless.

He wasn't sure what sort of prickle it was, just that he felt it. Just that he wasn't sure if it was a good thing or not.

He shook it off as nothing and slid the bottle out of the cupboard, gripping it maybe a touch too tightly; it was heavier than he expected, the label worn with the passing of time and hands, mostly his own. It wasn't a particularly good vintage, but being that it was an ingredient in sleeping draughts, that probably mattered less than the alcohol content, anyway.

He turned towards the little kitchenette, little more than some cups, some chipped plates, and a washbasin with a pitcher. He didn't have a kettle, but one of the burners would do if he was careful. He carried the cups and the box he kept his tea in with him to a table, and gestured for Nayel to come closer while he cleared some space for them both. 

Papers, bottles, lists. Bundles of ingredients. A pair of gloves. A pen. They felt comforting, in a way; reminded him that despite the fact that he might have to move on from this town, he could always make a space his own. He pulled the burner closer to the edge of the table, carefully placing a cup in its grip, and filled it with just enough water for his tea. Matches weren't hard to find in the mess of his work table, at least, and soon enough the water was starting to steam.

He uncorked the wine and poured some into the other cup, sliding it across the table to Nayel. Nayel himself looked to be lost in thought, watching the flickers of candlelight in his drink before finally taking the cup from Isach's hand- or rather, moving to, though he caressed the tips of Isach's fingers for a moment too long before taking proper hold of it. Isach found himself watching Nayel's downcast eyes, focused entirely on the cup; he found himself watching the curve of his lips as he took a sip, and the flick of his tongue chasing a stray drop on the rim of the cup. It was only on looking up that he realized Nayel had caught him staring, and now caught his eye.

He turned his attention to the boiling water, taking the cup off the burner with his hand carefully wrapped in one of his scarves. The steam curled against his fingers like breath as he dropped in a spoonful of tea and stirred, watching the crinkled leaves turn the water almost as dark as Nayel's wine. All this in silence, broken only by the night noises outside; town crier calling the hour, wind rustling the palm fronds.

Nayel laughed. Softly, a barely audible little chuckle, but he laughed. 

Isach stopped stirring his tea to look up and found Nayel smiling, the cup of wine held loosely in one hand and the other propping up his chin. He wasn't looking at him, though he glanced up when Isach cleared his throat. 

"You put so much focus in the little things." He said. There was nothing for Isach to say back, so he continued stirring his tea. Nayel looked back down at his wine, swirling it slowly as he continued to speak. "You care so much, it hurts to see you care so much for every soul that passes between your fingers. Did you ever want to be a doctor?"

He didn't know how to answer that either, so he didn't. He couldn't think of a time when he wasn't putting those dying in agony out of their misery, and Nayel couldn't possibly know if he did or didn't. He finally finished stirring his tea and carried the steaming cup with him back to the table, sitting across from Nayel and taking a sip.

It was bitter. Tea was always bitter, but the aftertaste of greenery and something like the memory of dried fruit soothed him. He took another sip and they drank in silence for a while, though Isach got the distinct feeling that Nayel was watching his every move.

Something about it didn't seem predatory, like he thought it might. Something about being watched, though he looked up and Nayel never seemed to have his eyes on him when he did, was a comfort. 

It was like he was wanted, like Nayel said he was.

"You're thinking too hard again." Isach gulped the last of his tea and when he looked up to see Nayel speak, he noticed he'd done the same for his wine. He reached for the bottle again, but Nayel shook his head. "What can I do to convince you that I'm telling the truth?"

What could he do? He didn't know. Suddenly, he was angry, though he couldn't quite place why.

"Don't keep saying it." He said, and then there was nothing else he could do but  _keep talking_. Nayel looked surprised; Isach  _felt_ surprised, but the words tumbled one after the other, right off his tongue. "I don't want to keep hearing how precious I am, or how careful, or how beautiful. I've gotten too used to hearing other people and  _myself_  say exactly the opposite to believe it, at least right now. I don't need to hear it. Just..."

His heart was hammering. Nayel's visage swam in the dim light, but he could swear he looked ready to leave if Isach only said the word, no matter how much it might hurt him to do so. Isach couldn't bear to send him away, either, but the look sealed the deal.

He took a deep breath.

"Show me."

Nayel, for his part, let out a breath that Isach hadn't even realized he'd been holding. He smiled, slumping in his seat a little, and for once in a long time Isach found him stunned to silence.

"You would ask a storyteller not to use words." He said, light and teasing, more like himself than Isach had heard in a good, long while. He shook his head and Isach almost thought he'd fallen for a trick, but when Nayel looked back up at him, there was only that adoration in his eyes, that mischief and brightness and, if he should let himself hope for a moment, maybe something that really was like love. "I'll do it, but you'll have to forgive me if I'm a little rusty at it."

Isach blushed, but he let it slide with little more than a tightlipped nod. Nayel chewed his lip, obviously unused to what was happening- or perhaps unused to silence where he was so used to words, or the tension in Isach's shoulders. 

"We'll have to work on that." He said. "But for now, I'll assume you mean for me to keep going."

Isach nodded again, and Nayel sighed, in relief or resignation was unclear in that moment, but Isach stayed seated as Nayel stood and, rather than walk around the table, pushed aside the burner and their cups, careful of the flame and the ceramic. 

He moved slowly, like someone trying not to frighten away an animal, and Isach found himself entranced with the sight of him getting one knee up on the table to better balance himself as he leaned forward. If there was an enchantment in the way he moved, it was only the natural charm of him, but it was spellbinding enough that Isach didn't pull away when Nayel pressed their lips together in a kiss.

It started out hesitant, careful. Isach didn't make any move to deepen it, but radiating from that single point of contact outwards was a warmth he thought he'd never feel again, magnified a hundredfold. 

There was Nayel's desire in it, in something so simple as that kiss, but it was the warmth that shocked him: The heat of another body, alive and full of potential, and he could imagine in that moment that Nayel might have had a hundred years spread out before him, or a thousand years, or forever.

He almost believed it. He closed his eyes and drank in that kiss, finally leaning forward because for once he wanted  _more_  and he didn't have enough shame to push him away. 

And Nayel, Isach wanted to say his name and clutch him closer to himself, greedily soak in that warmth and vitality he offered up to him like something from a nightmare. 

But it was Nayel that pulled him close, tangled a hand in his hair and kissed him harder. He couldn't breathe. He didn't  _want_  to breathe, if it meant Nayel would let him go. His head was spinning as Nayel pulled himself up on the table entirely and kissed him deep, tongue in his mouth, lips sucking softly at his own like he might get a taste of his very soul.

And, unfortunately, it was Nayel who gave first. He pulled away to breathe and Isach sat there, dazed, realizing he was gripping the edge of the bench so hard that he could feel the unpolished woodgrain digging into his fingers, little crescents where his nails had bitten into the wood. One had chipped.

Nayel looked at him with such aching sadness that he thought he'd done something wrong, until Nayel tipped his head up to kiss him between the eyes.

"I won't lie to you, Isach." He said, and Isach listened, really listened this time. "I want you more than words can express. But I want to do this for you, and I  _need_  you to show me that I'm doing it right. So, please." He smiled, wanly. "I'll only go on if you say I can, and I'll stop when you say I stop. But I need you to use  _your_  words, alright?"

"I." He gulped, looking up at Nayel. He smiled, but there was a pleading, almost desperation, in his eyes. Before Isach could say anything else, he stopped him.

"Don't do it just to please  _me_." He said, pouting even, a whine in his voice. "I know I must have put so much on your shoulders already. Just..." He leaned in, to murmur into Isach's ear. "Do what feels right. What  _really_  feels right. I won't speak now; I only want to do what you want from me."

Isach shuddered, but not in any kind of fear or a need to restrain himself like before. He looked up at Nayel as Nayel sat back on his heels, patiently waiting for instruction, and the intensity of his gaze almost  _burned._

Isach knew what he wanted, what they both wanted. It was cruel of Nayel to make him choose to act on it, but...

Would he ever have acted on it otherwise?

Isach couldn't answer himself, and instead stood up, his hands on Nayel's shoulders, looking into his surprised face.

"You'll do anything you're told, won't you? Don't speak." He said, stopping Nayel with a finger to his lips when it looked like he was about to answer. "Nod your head."

He did. Isach felt a flutter in his gut, wholly unfamiliar, but exciting now; a pulse in time with the beat of his heart that spread throughout his body like lightning.

He cupped Nayel's face in his hands, carefully, like a treasure of spun glass. "Kiss me again."

There was only a second of hesitation between them, a second that it took for the words to really sink into Nayel's mind; then it was gone, and there was only the two of them, and Nayel arched up to meet him again, lips on his, one hand on his shoulder and the other twined in his hair.

He moaned into Nayel's mouth this time, tilting his head with the way Nayel pulled it back; they were roughly the same height, so Nayel kneeling on the table made him tall enough to kiss him like that. Isach found himself wondering for a moment what things might have been like if Nayel were tall enough to really kiss him like this without help.

It distracted him enough that Nayel took the incentive again, pushing him back again so his knees hit the seat and he sat back down. Nayel clambered into his lap, grinding down against him, flush to his chest in little more than his thin shirt and breeches, and the heat of him practically  _burned_. It was like everywhere they were pressed together was licked in flame, and Isach couldn't help but press Nayel back against the table and kiss him harder.

He could feel shaking; for a moment he thought Nayel might have been crying out, but then he realized it was laughter.

Nayel was fighting himself not to speak, but he couldn't contain his mirth, his joy, as when Isach pulled back and he peppered his face with kisses before kissing him on the mouth again. He lay back on the table for him, hair mussed, lips and cheeks reddened, eyes hazy with desire. He was waiting for more, waiting for Isach, loved him so much he would stay silent and hang on to anything he said.

Isach wasn't sure if it was power or shock that made his blood rush through his head like it was, or maybe that he realized maybe Nayel really did love him, or else wanted him enough that he would say he did.

In that moment, he wasn't sure which was which, or if it really even mattered.  _He_  wanted Nayel. Whatever he would offer of himself, he wanted it.

"Undress." He started, and stopped, and blushed. "... Please."

There was a twinkle in Nayel's eye as he lifted his hands to the ties at his throat, undoing the already-loosened knot so he could ease his shirt off his shoulders. Isach watched hungrily, hands on the table at either side of Nayel's hips, as Nayel pulled his arms through the sleeves and lifted the shirt over his head. His skin was smoother than Isach expected; after seeing so many soldiers and sore-stricken bodies, he'd begun to forget that there were those yet unmarked.

He reached out, mesmerized, and Nayel only arched his back against his touch when the tips of Isach's fingers met the skin of Nayel's collarbones, drifting slowly down to his chest, his belly, the edge of his breeches.

Isach stopped breathing. He expected Nayel to stop him, to grab his wrist, to break the silence. Nothing happened. His hand remained where it was, and when he looked up into Nayel's face, he was looking just as expectant as he was, unwilling to break out of this moment frozen around them, barely aware of the world beyond each other. He found himself not wanting to remove his hand, but this couldn't be where they stopped, not now.

He gestured with his other hand. 

"Go on." He said, trying to sound a little more in-control than he felt. Nayel raised an eyebrow, teasingly, his lips turned up at the corners in what could barely be called a smile but was definitely meant to be a challenge, wordlessly asking Isach for more.

Isach straightened a little, but not so far that he wasn't still looming over Nayel. He hooked the first joints of two fingers in the waistband of Nayel's pants. "You know what I mean. The rest of this, too."

He pulled his hand back. Nayel looked down and finally followed, thumbs in his waistband before he started pulling his breeches down, lifting his legs to help, and Isach could see the color return to his cheeks now, like he'd given him new life.

It was an illusion, of course, but even if he knew it was just a trick of the light, that Nayel was just blushing- and it was amazing enough to make someone like Nayel  _blush_ \- it sparked something fierce and wanting in him. Something hungry-  _ravenous_ , even _-_ for more.

That Nayel was so willing to give it left him speechless, for just long enough that he only came back to himself when he felt Nayel squirm. Isach realized with a start that he'd placed his hands on Nayel's hips some time in there, and now Nayel was just about  _nude_  in front of him, his skin practically glowing in the amberous light. His fingers fit perfectly in the dips above Nayel's narrow hips, his thumbs settled easily where they lay framing his crotch.

He was half hard. Isach finally noticed, and Isach had a leg pressed up between Nayel's inner thighs. Nayel glanced between his face and where their bodies met, flushed darkly, his breathing deep and slow, his delicate, long-fingered hands splayed on the table for balance. Isach gulped, but found his throat dry.

"I'd never expected to get this far." He said, even chuckled, bringing one hand up to stroke the side of Nayel's face. The look in Nayel's eyes was nervous, and Isach felt a bit guilty keeping him on edge like this. He shook his head. "I'm not about to turn you away, now. And you're right, it's cruel of me to keep you silent. You can speak."

" _Thank you_." Nayel breathed, laughed breathlessly, deliriously. Was he holding his breath this whole time? Of course not, but Isach couldn't have made it easy to breathe all the same. He didn't say much more though; he was already drawing Isach in for another kiss, more passionate than before, as if he wanted to devour him with his lips and tongue alone.

"I love you." Nayel said. "Please, please, I need to tell you just how much I love you; let me?"

It sounded like a prayer, like he was begging for a blessing from some wild, pagan god, lost in the ecstasy of his devotion. Isach didn't want to be worshiped, though. He didn't want to lose Nayel to some  image of himself that he hardly knew. He knew that much.

"You can tell me." He said, pressing soft, almost chaste kisses to the corners of Nayel's mouth. "But show me too."

Nayel kissed him again, then broke the kiss to speak, smiling in a daze. "Of course, love; I can sing your praises in more ways than one."

And suddenly Isach found himself turned right around. It was Nayel's turn to be on top of him, smiling down at him eagerly as he undid the buckles and buttons of Isach's coat. He was beautiful up there, backlit by the candles in such a way that he looked like he was glowing, and Isach had never been a poet but he could imagine how a poet like Nayel might appreciate a sight like this.

His hair was making a mess of the table. He was glad Nayel had moved things out of the way, though he was feeling a little paranoid about accidentally knocking over one of the drinking cups, or the burner. He didn't have much time to think of burners and drinking cups, though; he was being made  _very_  aware of his own cock reacting to Nayel's body, the heat of him and all that bare skin on display. Nayel was surprisingly good at keeping him pinned to the table, and while it was a pretty uncomfortable, he was too busy being distracted by Nayel himself to particularly mind.

"You don't know what a favor you've done me, giving this to me." Nayel breathed, so close that Isach could feel his breath tickle his eyelashes before Nayel dipped down again to follow his hands and Isach could hardly breathe. He could feel Nayel's lips, soft and hotter than the rest of him, just barely moving against his skin as he undid his clothes and spoke.

"You're fine-boned as a bird." He said. "I can feel your heart fluttering under your ribs, quick as a sparrow, but I can surely say it's a thousand times more precious to me than any bird in hand."

"Only- only a thousand?" Isach joked. It didn't feel like the right time to joke. Nayel went along with it anyway.

"More than a thousand." He smiled, nipping gently at a small, raised scar. Isach didn't even remember where he'd gotten that scar, or how, but he felt suddenly ashamed of it compared to Nayel. 

Nayel's eyes sparkled. "How many stars can we say are in the sky? How many sunrises and sunsets have ever been made in the world? A thousand is a low number, compared to those things, and how much more precious you are to me."

"Someone flawless like you." He shook his head, but Nayel stopped him with a hand laid softly on his cheek.

"I'm far from flawless." He said, his tone suddenly darkened. "We both are. But flaws are nothing in the face of what I love about you."

It stunned him, but Nayel went on, going lower; on his knees now. "I can only imagine what you've been through that you can't see how beautiful you are, but that doesn't matter right now. I can use my tongue for more things than flattery; it looks like flattery is getting me nowhere tonight, after all."

Isach was about to ask what that meant when Nayel had his pants undone; he pushed the stiff cloth down to his boots and wrapped his fingers around Isach's cock. It was the first hand Isach had ever had around him besides his own, and he couldn't exactly say it was an  _outstanding_  experience, but mostly he couldn't say anything at all. He gasped as Nayel started stroking, and moaned when Nayel dragged the flat of his tongue across the head. 

He was hardening fast, he could tell; it felt like he was rushing forward towards a cliff, and he didn't know what was at the bottom but he didn't want to stop. He hesitated until the third lick, and then he moaned Nayel's name, one hand shakily lifting from his white-knuckled grip on the table to take hold of Nayel's hair.

"Please," He begged. He wasn't sure what he was begging for, but Nayel seemed to have a pretty good idea.

Tight, wet warmth closed around the head, and then pulled back, and then pushed forward again, and Isach realized Nayel had his mouth on his cock. He wished he could do something for him, something more than moan and gasp, but it didn't seem like Nayel was going to give him the chance. Nayel had him right where he wanted him, and he wasn't letting him escape so easily; Isach arched his back as he felt Nayel take more of him into his mouth, halfway down, and then further. It must have been in his throat. It made his sight go double whenever he opened his eyes and Nayel swallowed.

He was more surprised when, somewhere in there, he felt Nayel prodding a finger at his backdoor. He thought maybe he was dreaming, or confused; he'd never done this with someone else before, and if he'd ever put a couple fingers back there, they were his own. He almost told Nayel to stop, but then, he found his voice catching in his throat: Why would he tell him to stop? He wanted so much more than this, and Nayel seemed to know a little more about how to get it.

"Nayel," He moaned. "Please, I want- I need-"

He didn't know what he needed. He felt Nayel hum thoughtfully around him, before that finger pushed into him properly, all the way to the knuckles. He gasped in surprise; Nayel had eased it in carefully, following the bends of his body, but it still went deeper than his own fingers could go. He whined as Nayel kept bobbing his head on his cock, kept thrusting that finger into him like he was searching for something. For all  _Isach_  knew, Nayel might have actually been searching.

He'd never get to find out, of course; he was too busy being distracted by the second finger joining the first.

"Oh,  _fuck,"_ He hissed; Nayel slowed down, but he shook his head. "Don't stop, please," And despite a moment of confusion, Nayel continued. It sent a rush through Isach's blood that had more to it than the pleasure inside him and wrapped around his cock, that Nayel listened to him so easily. He moaned again as Nayel started thrusting his fingers, in time with the way he sucked and slurped at his cock.

It felt too soon when Nayel pulled his fingers out, wiping them on the side of Isach's thigh. He blinked slowly, flushed and sweaty in the dim, warm room. When had it gotten so warm? Nayel stood between his legs and licked his lips, and Isach could see drool shining on his chin.

"Why did you stop?" He asked, voice husky with need.

"I didn't want to hurt you." Nayel said, sounding almost sheepish. Isach was about to say it hadn't hurt when Nayel continued. "Do you have any oil? Something safe for the body. Vegetable oil will do."

He was blunt about it, and Isach wasn't sure if that was a good thing or not, blushing as he fumbled with getting up again before Nayel pushed him back down with a bright little laugh. "No, I don't want you tightening up walking around just yet. Point me to it."

Blushing even darker, Isach pointed to another cupboard. It was a little surreal how easily Nayel went from sucking cock to humming softly to himself on his way to looking for lube, but Isach at least got a pretty good view of his body, the way he moved like water-weighted silk even for something like this. It was easier to tell how lightly he stepped around things when he didn't have all his clothes in the way.

"Found it!" In another moment, Nayel came back with a bottle of cooking oil clutched triumphantly in one hand. 

Nayel put the bottle down on the bench, and then got between Isach's legs again, though this time he was on the floor so he could help Isach out of his boots. For someone who'd just had Nayel's fingers  _inside_ him, it was oddly intimate to Isach, having Nayel help him remove his shoes. He massaged his calves, even, and then the arches of his feet, pressing a small kiss to his shin. Strange, he thought, but the kiss left flutters in his ribs like the earlier kisses had nonetheless.

That done, Nayel made a show of unstopping the bottle and pouring oil liberally onto his fingers, drops of it landing on Isach's leg. It was cold, but warmed fast with his skin. Isach wondered how it might feel  _inside_  him, but then, if he understood what Nayel meant to do, he wouldn't have to wonder for long.

He was right. One hand, the hand that already had the oil on it, went behind Isach again, probing for the hole there. Isach breathed slowly, but it was still a bit of a surprise to feel the oiled fingers pushing into him, though he made sure not to squeeze too hard around them; made sure to try to relax. Nayel practically purred, licking his lips before he dragged his tongue up the underside of Isach's cock this time.

"You're tight." Nayel murmured, right against Isach's skin. "I'm not so naive as to imagine I'm the first person to do this to you, but I could almost believe I were, just from how you pull me in." If it was meant to make Isach blush, it was working.

Nayel pulled his fingers out after a couple more thrusts, poured more oil on his hand, and stood. One of Isach's legs was hitched over his thigh. Isach felt his breath go shallow as he watched Nayel stroke his own cock with his oiled hand. The gleam of oiled skin in the candlelight kept Isach's attention almost hypnotically.

"Nayel..." He looked up. 

Nayel's smile held only warmth for him. "Ready when you are."

He nodded, and Nayel braced his hands on Isach's hips, almost a parallel to how he'd held him earlier. This time they were both nude, though, and this time Nayel ran his hand down to Isach's thigh, bracing them both against the table as he lined up his cock with Isach's hole.

Isach breathed out, and Nayel pushed in.

They both groaned, Nayel at the heat engulfing him, Isach at the hardness stretching him open. He wrapped his arms around Nayel's shoulders as Nayel began to thrust.

"You're so beautiful." Nayel murmured, right in his ear. "More beautiful than I've ever seen, body and soul and mind, and I can't help it, I love you so much, you're worth more than the world to me no matter what anyone says."

"Please..." Isach could feel tears rolling down his cheeks, an ache radiating from his chest; even through how good it felt it was so hard to believe a word Nayel said, but he had to try, he had to believe Nayel saw these things in him.

"You bright, gentle thing," Nayel murmured, thrusting into him so carefully, so slowly that Isach could feel how their skin caught and dragged against each other even with the slickness of the oil. He crooned more of it, affirmations and sweet things that Isach couldn't bring himself to hold onto, but little by little he could feel it begin to ring true:

Nayel wanted him, as much as he wanted Nayel. He wouldn't have gone through all this otherwise, would he?

Isach couldn't believe that of him.

"Isach," Nayel breathed. "Isach, love, beloved, you're so good, I love you so much," He was babbling, but Isach drank it in anyway, and when his voice started getting hoarse, Isach kissed him and spoke in turn.

"Please," He could feel something burning in his gut, a tightening that told him just how close he was. He didn't realize how close until Nayel pulled back, just enough to put space between them and put a hand in that space to start stroking Isach's cock.

Isach's breath caught in his throat, a shuddery groan pulled out of him with every squeeze and pull of Nayel's hand. Nayel sucked on the crook of his neck as he writhed from the pleasure, as he clawed pinkish lines on Nayel's back, once-unblemished and now marked with Isach's desire. They would be temporary, but Nayel would certainly feel and remember them, and it was that thought that sent Isach over the edge.

Nayel followed close behind; three thrusts after Isach was finished, Nayel held him close with a softly-murmured swear, too muffled for Isach to really tell what curse left his lips, or if it was a curse at all; maybe he was saying thanks for this, or maybe it was just needy, animal noise. Whatever the case, he slumped against Isach, and they lay there for a time, tangled in each other, sticky with sweat and oil and their own come.

In a while, Nayel was the first to get up and off of Isach. He looked down at him with a bleary-eyed smile, running a hand through his sweat-mussed hair.

"Is that enough for you?" Nayel asked, teasingly. When Isach didn't answer, merely laying there to breathe, his tone turned more serious again. "Please. I'd like to know, if any of this got through to you or if you just needed the relief. I won't judge you either way. I'll take only whatever you're willing to give me."

The ache was almost too much for Isach to bear. He sat up, though the soreness in his back and his backside weren't going to let him force much out of his body for at least the next night or so, and he wrapped his arms around Nayel's shoulders again, burying his face against his neck.

"You were better than that. You're more than enough. I..." He clutched him tighter. "I don't want to lose you now. Not after this. Stay the night? We can figure out the rest after morning, but right now, I..." He cut himself off again, but then finally, achingly, he pushed through his hesitation. "I think I love you, too."

Nayel paused. Then he returned the hug, and laughed, though Isach could swear there was a sob in there, too. 

"You think you love me?" He looked Isach in the face, and there were tears on his, but there was a wide, genuine smile. "I'll take it. And if the stars align, I'll make you feel my own love, as much love as I have in me and more."

Isach just held him, and then just when things were starting to wind down, they both yawned, and paused, and slowly, they began to laugh.

"Morning it will have to be, then." Nayel said, rubbing at his tearstained eyes, rubbing the tears off his cheeks. "For now, let's get some rest in a proper bed."

Isach nodded, stifling another yawn. They picked up their clothes, and while Isach limped a little, Nayel helped him up the stairs, one arm slung over his shoulder and one of his own arms around Isach's waist. When they'd nearly reached the top, Isach looked over his shoulder.

The bottle remained forgotten on the desk. Then Nayel closed the door, and led him to the bed.

Well, that was fine. It wasn't much of a loss there. They could deal with that in the morning, too, and it wasn't like vegetable oil was particularly hard to get.

They snuggled under the covers, Nayel against his back, and Isach facing the window. The moon hung full over the horizon; how late was it by now? Perhaps he'd have to keep the shop closed for the day, to catch up on some rest with Nayel.

"Goodnight, love." Nayel said, and shortly after, drifted off to sleep. Isach closed his eyes, and almost immediately, began to dream.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! This one was a really long time coming, but I'm happy to finally have it out. Sorry for the wait, too, but from here things should progress a little more smoothly. This was really taking up most of my time and energy, writing-wise, so now that it's done, I can focus on everything else.
> 
> Look out for everything else I post, and thank you tumblr user mount-vines for waiting for me to finish this!


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